


Cinder Star

by Ladycat



Series: Shadow'verse [12]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Friendship, Gen, post-Gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:25:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tara’s fingers were very pink against the brown grain of Dawn’s hair, nails flashing as they wove in and out of the braids she created. “So it’s not the idea that bothers you, in theory, but the execution?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinder Star

The blinds were already drawn so there wasn’t really any reason for her to hurry. Nine o’clock on a Saturday—she always heard Billy Joel’s voice to that phrase, even if it was am in reality, pm in the song—and breakfast was hovering at the edges of her mind. It wasn’t pressing, though, since food was still something she had a love-hate relationship with, currently going through an extended ‘hate’ period, much to the dismay of her caretakers.

This, though. This was worth having a bowl of cereal instead of the eggs and mock-toast she’d been planning to make.

Some light crept around the edges of the thick curtains, casting the room in baby-soft light that somehow managed to halo _and_ blurr at the very same time. Dawn normally only saw this effect on light- filters from cheesy romantic movies, but it worked here: soothing the harsh edges of Spike’s face, relaxed into the heavy sleep of a man who wasn’t worried about being prematurely awoken, while reflected light dazzled from the darker hair pressed messily against the top of Spike’s head, Xander’s breathing deep and even and quiet.

The need to ‘awww’ was strong; she was a girl, after all, and watching Xander and Spike do anything together was always cute—even when they argued; watching them sleep was like watching two exhausted puppies pile on top of each other, totally unconcerned with anything but the closeness of their companion. The empty beer-bottles and traces of popcorn strewn over the blanket haphazardly covering their knees only completed the picture, thoroughly adorable in a way that made Dawn want to grin at them fondly, even while shaking her head at the mess.

Instead, though, she watched for a few minutes longer, seated on the landing with her knees hugged to her chest. Just breathing. Then she quietly crept down on Homer-slippered feet to go into the kitchen. She wasn’t really hungry, anymore, so she sat at the table idly spinning a penny she found there, watching copper-colored light refract.

Tara found her that way, sliding onto the barstool beside her. She was dressed in her pyjamas, still, messy t-shirt and kitten-print bottoms that looked like something Dawn would wear. “Good morning,” she said quietly. It’d take Dawn being upset to wake Spike, and the shrill sound of an alarm to wake Xander so they didn’t _need_ to be quiet. The morning had a hushed feeling to it, though, like something bright and amazing was waiting around the corner and they had to be still and patient for it to arrive. “Do you want breakfast?”

Dawn shrugged, one shoulder twitching higher than the other. “Maybe later? I’m ... ” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t know what she was, not at all, and examining the possible choices tumbling around in her head was making it hurt. “Not hungry?”

“Is that a question?” Tara nudged the penny from her fingers, making it do flips: she didn’t expend magic frivolously very often, so it was always something Dawn watched with awe.

“Maybe?” She grinned at Tara, turning her head without moving her eyes from the penny that now spun even as it flipped.

Tara’s shoulder bumped into her own, simple reassurance that made Dawn ache for her actual sister, and not the proto-one she had. It’d taken her weeks not to amend that statement with a frantic ‘not that I _mind_ , or there’s anything _wrong_ with that’ even inside her own mind, but gradually Tara and the others had convinced her that they understood. That missing Buffy, and comparing what Dawn had now with what she should have—could have—had didn’t devalue one for the other. “Bad dream?”

Silent, Dawn shook her head. The penny was doing parabolas now, moving so fast it was a copper-colored blur.

Tara made the penny stop in mid-air, a hint of green sparkles underneath it, keeping it unnaturally suspended above the formica counter-top. “ _Good_ dream?”

Dawn laughed a little, unsurprised when it didn’t sound very cheerful at all. “No, no dreams. No bad day yesterday.”

“Okay.” The penny settled onto Dawn’s outstretched finger, Tara covering the top with her own forefinger. “Are you going to tell me why you’re so pensive?”

Dawn’s nose wrinkled without thought. “Pensive? I’m not supposed to know what that means, you know.”

“But you do.” Tara’s smile was fond and proud, the kind of pride Dawn was learning came with no strings, no _help_ —just simple happiness in Dawn’s achievements. “You and the walking thesaurus out there.”

It was obviously meant as a joke, something for them to giggle over together. Spike’s academic skills still made Willow pout and attempt to play tug-of-Dawn, but since he was, as he put it, ‘pants’ at the more scientific aspects of Dawn’s education, Willow cornered the market on anything involving numbers. Spike was left to help Dawn go from a middling B to an A+ student in a little over two months—in English, at least. It was something they all teased him about, particularly once Spike stopped taking their attentions so seriously and teased them right back.

But Dawn didn’t chuckle or bump her shoulder back against Tara’s. If anything, she was afraid that she winced—certainly Tara abandoned the penny growing warm between their fingers to clasp Dawn’s palm against her own. “Hey, Dawnie. Talk to me?”

“It’s not, um, a big deal?”

Tara’s smile was gentle although no less worried than before. “You don’t really sound too sure of that.”

Dawn tugged her hand free, wrapping it around her thin torso to stare morosely at the patterns worked into the formica. “I don’t know. I just ... yesterday was a really good day, so I shouldn’t be all blah like I am now, but ... ”

Anyone else, and they’d be repeating the ‘but’, making it a question to force more words out of her. Tara never did that, waiting quietly while Dawn wrestled with the thoughts in her head. It always reminded Dawn of the bird-watching woman she’d seen in a Discovery channel show: sitting so still that wild birds, not just stupid pigeons, would alight on her arms and shoulders and the stupid, floral hat she’d worn. Tara had that same kind of patient stillness, a pond undisturbed by the winds tossing above its waters.

“I don’t think I’m _upset_ ,” she said eventually. “I mean, that’d be stupid, you know? It’s not something to get upset about. And part of me thinks it’s really cool. Really _good_ , because it would be good, and kind of _needed_ , you know?” Tara couldn’t know, couldn’t understand a word Dawn was babbling about, but her expression remained open and encouraging. “But part of me is totally weirded out, too, and that’s what I don’t get. Because I never thought it was weird when it was, you know, other people. It’s just now ... ”

Tara’s fingers were very pink against the brown grain of Dawn’s hair, nails flashing as they wove in and out of the braids she created. “So it’s not the idea that bothers you, in theory, but the execution?”

Dawn had no idea how Tara was managing to have a conversation when she wasn’t really telling her anything, but she was incredibly grateful for it. Also the slight tug and pull against her scalp, calming her even as she nodded—and then shook her head as much as the growing plait behind her left ear allowed. “No, I mean, that’s just it. I’m good with it in theory _and_ execution. I mean, I always have been before, anyway. It’s just that this time it’s ... closer to home?”

Tara was silent but for the shush of her fingers weaving Dawn’s hair, her attention seemingly focused only on that. “And it’s never been closer to home before?”

Well, no, of course it had. Incredibly close to home, actually, given it was _in_ her home that very moment. But even as Tara repeated the words, Dawn knew that wasn’t what as bothering her. “No. It’s that ... it never affected _me_ before.”

Her voice trembled on the last word, shame make her cheeks flush hot as she understood the depths of her selfishness. But Tara didn’t stop what she was doing to reprimand her, nor did her expression change to show her disapproval. She just kept braiding, new plaits of varying lengths appearing all over the left side of Dawn’s head. Most of them started to loosen and break up almost immediately, wisps tickling the side of Dawn’s face but she didn’t shake them free.

Eventually, Tara ran out of hair she could easily reach and began undoing what she’d just finished, combing out the new kinks and waves her braiding had created. “I know people teach you that thinking like that is selfish,” she said slowly, “and if you let it affect you, then it _is_. But people are pretty selfish, Dawnie, and our first reactions are almost always how it’s going to affect _me_ —even if it doesn’t really have anything to do with ‘me’.”

Dawn heard the distinction and nodded, even though her blush didn’t fade. “But... it really doesn’t affect me at all.”

“Sure it does.” Tara tugged her earlobe, making Dawn turn and face her for the first time. “Sweetie, of course it does. It’s something new and different in two of the most important people in your life—it affects me, and Willow, and Giles, and you, all in different ways. And it’s okay to worry about it, too.”

Her eyes were getting wide. “You ... you know what I’m talking about?”

Tara ducked her head, smiling. “Sure. I passed the sofa to get to the kitchen, same as you.”

“Oh. So, um. You think that ... ”

She couldn’t even _say the words_ , making a disgusted noise as she put her face against the formica. It smelled like chemicals and cold, making it hard for her to breathe. Tara’s hands wound their way into Dawn’s hair again, this time tugging playfully. “I think... maybe,” she said seriously. “Lots of close friends go through this, Dawn, the moment where you wonder if maybe it’s not _just_ friendship binding you together.”

Dawn rolled enough so that she could peek up at Tara. “Spike and Xander are friends?” she asked, doubtfully. “Spike and Xander are _close_?”

It was a layered question because of course they were friends. They’d been friend _ly_ for a while, so it was hard for Dawn to pinpoint the moment they became friends instead of reluctant allies, but it’d definitely happened. They spent most of their free time together, going off to do what they called ‘manly’ things, or just hanging out in the Summers’ house. They shared a lot of the same kinds of likes and dislikes, Dawn knew after playing go-between for them a few times, but they’d never seemed so comfortable with each other as what she’d seen in the other room. Or maybe she’d just never noticed it before?

“Probably far closer than either of them realize,” Tara said, her voice barely above a whisper. “They _trust_ each other, Dawn, and neither really thinks about it—”

“Because they’re boys and boys are dumb?” It was a stupid interruption, but the intensity is making Dawn feel nervous.

Tara didn’t even blink. “Partially. Partially because of who they are, especially Xander. He doesn’t analyze this kind of thing, he just has people he’ll trust with _your_ life—and people he won’t.”

And suddenly, Dawn got it. Got _all_ of it, not just the growing whatever between Spike and Xander that wasn’t about her at all—and the parts that were totally all about her, no matter how uncomfortable that made her—but what Tara had been subtly trying to reassure her about. That since so much of this really was about her, and her relationship with both of them, that it wasn’t ever going to be what she’d been afraid of since the moment she really _saw_ them, curled up together, hands and thighs touching as they slept on the sofa.

She laughed, a little ruefully, but it was a real laugh. “Wow. So even though my Dad hasn’t ever _really_ met me—lots of trauma, anyway.”

Tara leaned back a little, eyes clear and steady. “Not as much as you think, but that’s part of it. Just don’t tell me which one is ‘Dad’ and which is ‘the entire secretarial-pool’.”

Giggling, Dawn was grateful to realize that it didn’t hurt—oh, thinking about Spike and Xander still hurt a little, and probably would until new patterns had been firmly established, whatever it’d be. But thinking about the man who’d cheated on his wife, and basically abandoned both his daughters no longer had any power to hurt her. She already _had_ people who loved her and would act as her parents, regardless of their actual age and blood relation. “Oh, it’s totally—”

“Dawnie!”

She grinned back at Tara, relaxing back into a more normal position on the barstool. Maybe cereal would be a good idea, and soon. She was getting hungry. “Do you think it’s, well, _likely_?”

Tara shook her head. “I don’t know. They could, especially Spike—he equates sex and love as the same thing, most of the time. But you’ll be okay if they don’t?”

It was a point of pride, Dawn thought, that she could calmly discuss this without making the ew faces she desperately wanted to make. “ _And_ if they do,” she promised. Because Spike and Xander had always been important to each other, from the moment they had understood that Dawn was _theirs_. It didn’t matter that it had started out with Spike’s fanaticism and Xander’s worried responsibility—no matter if they were orbiting her separately or together, she was the center of their world, the nucleus of their molecule.

Although, Dawn could definitely foresee a time when having two kind of smothering big brother/surrogate father-figures that may or may not be dating each other could be a bad thing. Her own social life could be seriously impacted, if their reaction to her going to the prom a few weeks before was any indication. It wasn’t like boys were beating down the door to get to her, but they _could_ , and hopefully someday would. So maybe...

She blinked when a bowl of cereal was pushed under her nose. “Um?”

Tara’s expression was so kind that a person who didn’t know her well would miss the wicked gleam in her eyes. “Go on.”

It took a moment for Dawn to understand, but then she was grinning just was mischievously. Grabbing the bowl, Dawn went back to the living room and carefully—spilled milk was gross to clean up—insinuated herself between two sleeping, pliant bodies. Warmth from both sides suffused her, relaxing the last bit of tenseness from her shoulders even as she tugged the blanket more firmly around three pairs of legs.

Both of them immediately curled around her, murmuring sleepy assurances as they cuddled her, both of their hands coming to rest on her belly, fingers linking together in a way that could mean one thing, but didn’t have to mean anything at all. Dawn smiled down at that, eyes tracing over knuckles that melded together until she couldn’t figure out which belonged to who.

Her sigh woke them up.

“Uh?” Xander asked.

“S’morning?” Spike guessed.

“Hush,” Dawn told them, spooning up a mouthful even as she started flipping to find the good Saturday morning cartoons. It was _really_ hard to not giggle when both of them rubbed their eyes with mirroring movements, hands immediately dropping back to link together, palms heavy and broad against her belly. “I wanna watch tv, and you guys are going to watch with me.”

And, after a moment of blinking and wondering why Tara was laughing in the kitchen, they did. At least until Xander started stealing bits of her cereal, tossing soggy marshmallows to Spike over her head with his free-hand. _That_ provoked something else entirely, and Dawn was more than happy to go where ever it was they led her. So long as she was tucked up between them, everything was pretty much perfect.


End file.
